I'm Just Sayin' That the Following Animals Have Been Known to Eat Their Young: Bears, Felines, Canine, Primates, Rodents, Insects, Fish, Amphibians, Reptiles, and Birds. Just Sayin'.

The kids have both been telling us we're "mean mommy and mean daddy" lately, to which I say, "VICTORY!!" with an elaborate old English accent, in a deep bow whilst fanning my plumed pirate hat.

You see, kids, we are mean, because you are little shit monsters. We are just trying to teach you how to make good decisions so you don't end up the bad kind of criminals. It is our job, our sanctified duty, to be mean. And it takes a lot of dedicated work to be this mean to you. A little appreciation would be nice, actually.

I love you. I'm proud of you. I cherish you. And, sincerely, you are a shit monster.

I don't actually relish screaming at tiny people. I've never approached an elf or a leprechaun with ill will. I have no beef with gymnasts or jockeys. My eyeball-popping hollering, and my punitive withdrawal of all the fun things in this world, is reserved for you and your monstering.

The 3 y/o tonight told me to 'ZIP YOUR LIP' and later cut out the fun rhyme and just told me to 'SHUT UP.'

Shit monster.

The 5 y/o keeps misbehaving in kindergarten, and when he then has to pay the consequence for getting marked down on the behavioral color chart, and loses privileges for a night, he's mad at me.

What the what-ness?!?

He has an orange day for talking out of turn and not keeping his hands to himself, and I'm the mean one? Really.

Shit monster.

Bless those teachers, for making the "needs improvement" colors yellow and orange instead of "poop brown" and "bile green" like you know they really feel about the whole thing.

I don't have much more of a point to this post other than self-congratulations and self-pity and an all around, "I feel ya," if anyone else out there is a mean mommy or daddy and living with shit monsters.

I just keep thinking about how good chocolate cake acts as a sponge for red wine.

But, Officer, I Always Drive Topless With My Easy-Bake Oven

I got pulled over the other day, for speeding in a place where I always drive, and I always speed. The officer was so quick and polite and had the kindest eyes, so when he "let me off" with "just a" ticket for impeding traffic or starting a riot or some such, I thought I'd gotten away with something. That we had made a real connection. He got me. He knew my life was hard enough.

So, he gave me, not a full speeding ticket, but just a loving reminder ticket. A "rest assured, ma'am, there won't be any points on your license" ticket.

That till cost me $180.

What.

The only thing I learned (besides possibly a reminder of my white privilege) is that I'm not anymore young enough or cute enough to squeak out of a ticket with my eyelashes or bosom full of remorse, and not yet old enough and frail enough to sneak out of one with fresh baked car cookies or charm.

In an animated film, I'm in that gap between nubile wood fairy and wise old tree.

Probably my citizen's perspective that any of that can influences an officer doing his/her job is offensive to police officers. I broke the law, there are dollar-dollar-bill-y'all consequences of that. That is all.

But, still. I used to get out of way more tickets.

I do find it interesting how my encounters with strangers are changing as I age. I think I'm teetering on the edge of reminding men in their 20s more of their moms than of their penises. I'm OK with that. But it's different.

Ten years ago, if a stranger said something to me, about me, I would feel offended and threatened. It happens so rarely now, I'm caught off guard and am like, "Thanks! Do you really think so? I just slipped it into a size 12 jeans. Hollah!" The other day, when I was told I had pretty eyes, I got out of my car and mouth-kissed the cashier at the Jimmy John's drive-through.

That's the last time she'll compliment a stranger.

Change happens. Aging happens. I feel great about how I look. I'm on a path toward silver streaks in my hair and playful crow's feet, strength of body, and grace and wisdom. I love all of that and think it's very attractive and positive. Working hard on minding over matter.

Ah, well. I'll pay that speeding ticket. I'm moving forward in life, and I'm doing it quickly.

"Don't Worry, Be Happy," Says the Artificial Fish Trophy Hanging On The Wall

I'm trying to write through my anxiety.

I've been having a really hard time writing lately, which historically has meant it's what I most need to do. So here goes. No promises.

I'm like most of you, sometimes swallowed up by the sadness in the world, the darkness in the people,  I'm afraid of the winds of change that's blowing through humanity, or, maybe, more accurately, I'm afraid of the stillness, or the regression. I'm afraid the bad guys always win and that has gone on forever and will go on into perpetuity. I'm afraid that movies lied to us. Heroes just get shot or die of dehydration from drinking contaminated drinking water.

I worry about never being enough. Enough of a woman, enough of a mother, enough of an employee, enough of a writer. And now, after marriage counseling last week, enough of a wife. Enough of anything.

I worry about worrying, because I think it's a female trait and I hate that. I feel it undermines my power. I worry about worrying because the anxiety affects my health and my work, my family and my creativity. Sometimes I look at my kids and think that they're going to be hurt by having a mother who is emotionally less-than. Or more-than, maybe. I don't know.

I wonder if the condition of the people we love is a reflection of how we feel about ourselves...and worry that my insecurities, my self-doubt and loathing might negatively affect my kids? Marvelous.
Other times, the better times, I think my worry and sadness is all normal and healthy and just a function of being a sensitive, emotionally aware person. I am very vulnerable to the hurts. There have been times in my life that this has been a weakness, but by now, at thirty-six, it's deliberate. I'm an adult, I could choose to scar down with cynicism and closure and ego and thin distractions like the accumulation of stuff/stature. I think I have the script for that. I think the props are TV and alcohol, credit cards and cell phones. I get it.

OK, Glennon! Ok! I hear you! I'm trying to remember! Keep telling me!
But I'm not. I'm keeping myself open and raw, trying to live clearly, simply, honestly, and showing my whole mess to others. It's exhausting, but it's what makes sense to me. And even though I worry that my worry will harm my kids, I also think that being emotionally honest is a positive thing to demonstrate and promote in my kids. They do all that instinctively now, as children, but will eventually also face the option to shut it down. I hope they won't, even though I know how hard it all is. I'll remind them and me, constantly in repetition, that it's OK to talk about insecurities and fears, purge and release them, and occasionally trip on them.

So, I'm trying to be tender with myself. I'm throwing a handful of words down on the page and I'll try not to hold my breath until I know if anyone reads them or hates them. I'll keep sharing my feelings, even when they're ugly little bastards. Not gonna shut down, not going to shut me down. Just one word at a time.  I'll listen to music that makes me glad, and to the sound of boots on the wood floors and acknowledging that they're mine, and I'm safe. I'll work at seeing my kids' faces full of joy and sun and not see their earnestness as potential for harm in a horrible world, but instead feel glad they're throwing out their sunshine into it, making it just a little bit warmer and brighter. I'll try to throw some of my own.

I'll soon share about marriage counseling. It wasn't great the first time. It was actually really annoying, and I'm for sure going to write this therapist into a story or play some day when I'm out of my writing slump. BUT, the session did open much conversation and truth truthnesses later between Robb and I, and we're feeling hope. And that's good.

Thanks for always being there to let me dump my stuff. Lord knows you are all better listeners than this marriage counselor. Weeeew, I've got some stories. For a later time.

(But, seriously. She wore dominatrix shoes and she's at least 60. Ok, I'm done.)

Childfree To Be You and Me

I've talked to a few friends recently, who have given me the distressing news that they are choosing not to have children...and that people keep harassing them about it. 

The first bit, the choosing not to have kids bit, is not something that should be doubted or questioned or criticized. I think not having kids is a very logical, sane, reasonable choice a person or couple can make. 

So, why do older couples and parents of all ages so strongly encourage, or even shame, their family and friends about their decision to not add children to their family? 

I think it's several reasons. 

1. I mean, we're mammals. (That, by the way, will be the title of my 2nd book) and we're biologically programmed to reproduce. So, likely, if we see someone ignoring their bio clock or electing to not make life decisions based on their twitchy reproductive organs, it makes us feel unbalanced and insecure about our own decisions. And maybe about the future of our mammal tribe. I guess. I mean, by all accounts, we're drowning in human mammals on the planet. We're good. Your cousin, Tina, does NOT need to have a baby to keep us afloat. Leave her alone. 

2. FOMO. Having bio kids does have a narrow window of about 30 years of our lifespan (having bio kids *easily* has a narrower one than that), so the concern is if you 'drag your feet' too long, you'll have the rest of your lifetime filled with regrets over something you can't fix. But, the thing is, I think that by the time you're in your 30s or 40s, you know yourself pretty well and know if you want to parent. And, if you're waiting for career or couplehood to fall into place before you spring out some offspring, there is good science out there to help, or  adoption. But that's not what w'ere talking about. We're talking about folks who do not want to have their own kids. They may like kids, love kids even. They may very well want to be crazy involved in the lives of their nieces and nephews or friends' kids or whatever, but they know they don't want to parent. And that's fine. 

3. I mean, it's really, really fine. There have been studies that show that the happiest people on the planet don't have kids. And also how detrimental children are to relationships. "In fact, people without kids were happier than any other group, including empty nesters." Read this article on Psychology Today. Pretty interesting. It discusses the negative impact that kids have on individuals and relationships- loss of intimacy and privacy, stress, financial loss, sex, etc. I TOTALLY BUY ALL OF IT. My kids are the greatest two people who have ever breathed, but still- all of that rings absolutely true. My life is infinitely more stressful and my marriage more burdened since having kids. Also, no matter how hard we work, there seems to be less money. And no time. 

4. Your life will be "empty" or "lonely" or "without purpose" without kids. I don't know. I've heard this one from older people a lot. I know that before we had kids, we did spend more time on ourselves than on...kids. We were more fit, better read, better traveled, better slept. All that is true. But we also pursued our careers more aggressively/successfully and took riskier risks creatively and did more volunteering and giving of our time and money to our community. It wasn't all bad for us or for the larger 'us,' either. I think, if you have a big pile of friends and family, and stay active in the world, there's no reason to believe you'll have less companionship or purpose at any stage in life…and, if you’re worried about who will take care of you in old age, it’s kind of presumptuous to assume you'll be covered if you HAVE kids. I mean, they might move away. They might not want to or be able to be what you need of them, you know? 

So, why do we have kids? Because we like dressing them in ironic Halloween costumes that make our friends laugh. We like the god-like power of assigning a name to a person that they then have to live with for the rest of their lives. We like to challenge of carrying 15 grocery bags, 2 backpacks and a screaming person up stairs. We wanted to put our love toward young people who might occasionally love us back. We maybe a little bit wanted to put something next generation-y into the world? (Yikes). We thought we had to, because it's 'what you do?' 

I don't regret my decisions, but I would never impose them on other people. My kids are the bees’ elbows, and I’m so glad they’re part of my family, but I don’t think I’d say, “I can’t imagine life without children.” Being a parent has been great for me, but I could also see how not being a parent would have been swell, too.

So, you know, if you’re a parent and you find yourself in conversation with someone who is choosing not to be a parent, don’t be weird and pushy. Don't be every interviewer ever who talks to Jennifer Aniston. Just don't do it. 

And if you’re a child-free person and you’re stuck in a conversation with someone who is trying to bully you into parenthood, tell them what you’re reading, what your travel plans are, and what you ate at brunch last week. That should shut them right up.